“I can’t tell you how happy I am to see the both of you.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
Despite Aunt Mirabella’s exuberant attempts to make Cecelia’s ball the most tasteless affair of the season and the continuous gossip surrounding Lady Williams’ descent into madness, Stratton thought the evening was going marvelously well. Cheeks glowing, her eyes bright as she laughed at some comment made by her dance partner, Cecelia was very much the fresh faced young debutant in her embroidered ivory muslin as she energetically circled around her partner to the tune of a country dance.
Servants in black and gold livery offered champagne, lemonade and sweetmeats. The ballroom was aglow with candles. Even the interminable length of the reception line was made tolerable as he renewed old acquaintances recently returned to London. His only complaint was that Priscilla could not take her place beside him tonight. Considering that she was currently peeved at him over his appointment with Bertram, it was probably for the best. She had, as planned, arrived with Mrs. Hutton and Lord Hamilton. Every so often her laughter would break through the constant flow of conversation and music. She had chosen to sit this dance out and was playing court to several young men who would soon be most unhappy to learn that she was now a married lady.
A chill gripped him and he had to suppress a shudder every time he thought of how close he had come to losing her. He owed Sir Montville a great debt for stepping in when he did, and also for agreeing to keep Priscilla and Lord Mallory out of his account of the shooting when the constable questioned him. Were it not for that, he would have been quite happy to see Montville tried and convicted for his role in blackmailing Priscilla. And as much as he had wanted to rail at Priscilla for her reckless trip to Lady Williams’, he couldn't. By not telling her he suspected that Lady Williams might be her blackmailer, he had put Priscilla's life in danger. It would be a while before he forgave himself for that.
She looked marvelous tonight, in a low cut shimmering lavender gown shot with gold threads. White satin gloves hid the ring on her left hand from view. They had spent last night in her maidenly canopy bed, too small by half for the both of them, but the close quarters hadn’t kept them from enjoying each other immensely. That afternoon, a small portmanteau containing her toiletries and a change of clothing had been deposited in his dressing room. She would be in his bed tonight and other than Mrs. Hutton, Rand and possibly Lord Hamilton, not a soul in this room knew. Amazingly, not even Cecelia had caught on. There was something vastly amusing about all this subterfuge.
“Very well done,” Rand commented as he ambled up beside him. “In fact, exceedingly well done, considering all that’s transpired of late. I don’t quite know how you’ve pulled it all off. Little sister is glowing, Aunt is behaving, but most important, the love of your life is within your grasp and out of danger.”
“I’m somewhat amazed, myself. What tales have you heard?”
“It’s gone exactly as you wanted." Rand lowered his voice. "Lady Williams’ shot her cousin during an argument over money she owed him, then realizing what she had done, ran. Speculation is, she was either too distraught to pay attention or wanted to end it all because she thought she had killed him and couldn’t live with the guilt.” He snorted. “It’s bloody ridiculous, but makes a good tale. Harris is quite unhappy in his role as the man who saved Sir Montville’s life, but by next week a new scandal will have surfaced and he’ll be gladly forgotten.”
Stratton glanced over at Pricilla and noted that another young man had joined her circle of suitors. “I’ll be happy when it’s past us, as well.”
“Agreed.” Rand took a glass of champagne as a tray of the sparkling wine passed by them. He took a drink before commenting, “I must say that’s quite a gown your aunt has on. Does she know the same drapery is hanging in brothels all over Covent Gardens?”
Stratton laughed and shook his head. “I wasn’t about to tell her and I hope to God no one else does.” He paused. “Bertram’s here. All things considered, I’m a little surprised that he came. His mother’s doing, I would imagine.”
“You know, I can’t help but feel sorry for the bloke.” Rand nodded to where Bertram stood dancing attendance on his mother, the dowager Lady Bertram, a tall, thin, sharp featured woman who, from what little they had observed, was possessed of a tongue to match. “I believe she’s informing him who he should and should not dance with. It’s amazing that the same young man, who is so determined to meet you at dawn at his own peril, appears completely biddable around his mother. I seriously doubt she would approve of his plans for tomorrow.”
“I expect she would not.” Stratton stopped; his mouth slightly open in surprise. “What the deuce? She sent him over to Cecelia.” He chuckled as the young man approached his sister who had just been escorted off the dance floor by her partner. She smiled graciously and nodded and allowed Bertram to pencil in his name on her dance card. He then executed a gallant bow and made his way over to another young lady, presumably the next on his mama’s list.
“I’d hazard a guess Lady Bertram’s not overjoyed at his current choice of bride,” Rand said.
“I doubt she would be any better pleased with Cecelia.” Stratton laughed. “My sister is not at all malleable when she makes her mind up about something. One thing is for certain, she needs to find a husband who doesn’t bend at her will. Otherwise, she will eat her mate for lunch and they won’t have a clue as to what happened.”
Rand murmured, “And she looks so innocent.”
“Appearances can be deceiving.” Dropping his voice he added, “You spoke with the second?”
“I will shortly.”
“Is all else going as planned?”
“I presume so. I’ll leave here in a few hours to make certain.”
He put his hand on Rand’s shoulder in a gesture of thanks. “I appreciate it. I would do it but I need to attend to my duties as host.”
“I understand completely,” Rand said. “I’ll just add it to the wealth of favors you already owe me. Matter of fact, you could do me a big favor tonight.”
“Anything.” Stratton stopped himself. “Well not quite anything.”
Rand grinned boyishly. “There’s a lovely young widow I’ve got my eye on. Let me borrow your office for about an hour.”
The viscount’s gray eyes lit with amusement. “You’ll never change, will you?” he asked. “There’s a spare set of keys to my office in the top right hand drawer of the secretary in the library. Go the back way and you’ll run into fewer people. Just make certain that you don’t let Cecelia see you.”
Rand tugged on a forelock in mock salute. “Much appreciated, my lord.”
Stratton couldn’t help laughing. “Go do what you need to do. It’s time I returned to my guests.”
Priscilla observed her husband as he moved easily among his guests, laughing and conversing; making certain all was going as it should and behaving as if absolutely nothing out of the ordinary was planned for tomorrow morning. However, as far as she was concerned, his role as host was not sufficiently distracting. Every so often he would turn his head and send her a wink or a grin letting her know that she was never far from his thoughts or his sight, and that did not lend its self at all to her plans. She had spent the last hour and a half waiting for an opportunity to speak with Bertie without Stratton’s knowledge, but thus far it had proved near impossible. She had given her promise that she wouldn’t to talk Bertie and he would be most upset if she didn’t keep her word. She hated breaking it but she just didn’t know what else to do. They had come so close to losing one another, just two days ago. Why couldn’t he couldn’t he be reasonable and simply call off the duel? She frowned as he glanced over at her and smiled. And why couldn’t he disappear into the card room like most men his age? He was taking his role as host more seriously than was convenient.
“Would you care for something to drink, Miss Hawthorn?”
With an effort at patience she looked up into the brown eyes of Lynd
on Trent, an eager young man one year her senior who seemed most encouraged by Lord Mallory’s absence. She offered what she hoped was a non-flirtatious smile. She was trying her best not to be rude but it wasn’t fair to offer hope where there was none.
“Thank you but …” she began, but the words died in her throat. Stratton was leaving the ballroom with Lady Fitzberry. It took only seconds to locate Bertie who was outrageously conspicuous in a gold quilted jacket. He and another young man she vaguely recognized were headed in the direction of the wide balcony that ran across the back of the house. What marvelous luck! If she could reach the balcony before Bertie did, she could speak with him there. “Please forgive me, Mr. Trent but there is someone I must speak to.”
Without waiting for a reply she walked toward the tall glass doors that opened onto the balcony. This was ridiculously easy she thought gleefully as she stepped outside to wait. Less than a minute later she heard a very recognizable low refined drawl.
“He can still back out.”
Mr. Danfield? Good Lord, how had that happened? And where was Bertie? She quickly moved back against the wall until she blended into the shadows and strained to hear the exchange.
“He won’t,” Bertram’s earlier companion said. “His mind is made up to do this.”
“Very well,” came the soft, jaunty reply. “Southeast corner St. James Park. We shall be there with bells on.”
Rand descended the stairs that led to the garden and disappeared while the other man went back inside. We shall be there with bells on? For someone who claimed to be her husband’s best friend, she thought irritably, he didn’t seem the slightest bit concerned for his health. He was calm, cheerful even. This made no sense at all. Moving over to the railing, she stared into the night. The evening was cool without being cold. If she took in a few deep breaths maybe her mind would clear and she could come up with an idea. Then it hit her. Southeast corner of St. James Park. She knew where and when the duel was to take place. Her lips curved into a grim smile. He would be furious, but she wouldn’t be breaking her promise. She had promised him she wouldn’t talk about it but she hadn’t promised she wouldn’t be there. There would be no duel tomorrow. They wouldn’t dare carry it out with her in attendance. Satisfied with her decision, she turned on her heel and re-entered the ballroom.
Chapter Twenty-Three
It was still dark out when Stratton shrugged into his jacket and then looked down on the sleeping figure in his bed. Last night had been difficult for her. He didn’t think her tension had been obvious to others but he had felt it from the moment he saw her. Even in sleep she gripped the covers tightly with her fists, her body as tight as a coiled spring. Not much different from a few short hours ago when they had fallen into bed, both exhausted but too keyed up to sleep. Priscilla had reached for him with a heated fierceness that surprised him. She had clutched at his hips, raked her nails across his skin, and pulled him deep inside her with a desperate need that he knew stemmed more from anger than desire. It was a strange almost violent encounter. And even though they had both found release the tension remained. She had pulled away, turned on her side and gone to sleep.
She hadn’t said anything. Hadn’t needed to. She was angry with him and he could understand why but it made no difference. He would not allow her to be involved. A female had no place in a situation like this. And with a little luck he would be home before she even woke. When he turned toward the door he felt a faint twinge where she had raked him. A smile played on his lips. The little minx had kept her promise and not mentioned the duel, but she had definitely made her feelings known.
The moment she heard the door close behind him, Priscilla sat up and pushed the covers aside. Pulse racing, she swung her legs over the side of the bed and her bare feet touched the floor. Thinking she would be abed for several more hours he had thoughtfully stoked the fire and the bedchamber was quite cozy and warm, but his consideration was wasted. She didn’t much care what he said or thought, she was going to stop this idiotic duel. Without bothering to slip on her wrapper she lit the candle by their bed and padded toward the dressing room. Men could be such nitwits.
As they approached the designated area of St. James Park, Stratton could see Bertram standing next to his curricle; quite a feat considering the heavy fog that was swirling about them. Good God. He must have risen at three a.m. to dress and arrive on time. Colorful as always, he was dressed in a scarlet red jacket with an elaborately fashioned cravat that must have taken a good hour to tie. There appeared to be an inordinately amount of padding in his jacket and Stratton wondered how he could even raise his arms much less fire a pistol. A rotund young man with brown curly locks dressed in a similar fashion stood close by. They were, he mused, like two bright beacons in the rolling gray mist. He grinned as he heard Rand mutter, “Might as well paint a bull’s eye on the bugger’s chest.”
Stratton and Rand dismounted, securing their reins to a nearby tree branch. Rand set the case holding the brace of dueling pistols on the ground.
“Bertram.” Stratton nodded briefly at the young lord then held his hand out to the other man. “I assume you’re the second.”
“Allow me to introduce my cousin,” Bertram said stiffly. “Sir Benedict Humphrey. Lord Stratton. I believe Mr. Danfield and Sir Humphrey have met.”
Rand extended his hand to Humphrey as well. “Would you care to inspect the pistols, sir?”
Humphrey nodded then hunkered down by the case and opened it.
Stratton turned away but not before he noticed how badly the young man’s hands were shaking. He gazed out at the drifting patches of fog obscuring much of the field. “Where’s Dr. Sorrel? It isn’t like him to be late.”
“He should have arrived by now.” Bertram’s voice quivered slightly. “I don’t know what’s keeping him.”
“It’s just as well,” Rand commented. “You’ll need to wait until the fog lifts some. At present you can’t see more than ten paces. Won’t do to be firing blindly into the fog. God only knows who you might kill. Though I must say that with that jacket you’re quite easy to see even in this muck. Gray is preferable for early mornings. Much less visible.”
Bertram flushed. “I hadn’t thought of that. I suppose you’re right.”
“Red makes it hard to see the blood though,” Rand continued. “That can be good or bad depending on the situation. Of course, Sorrel will probably just cut your jacket off of you. You could also remove your jacket before you and Stratton count your paces, though I can’t quite picture you without a jacket and waistcoat.” He stepped closer as if to get a better look. “No, I can’t picture it at all. You’d look positively naked. It also helps to turn sideways when you shoot. You make a smaller target. Of course you need to make certain you point your pistol in the right direction if you do that.”
“Uh. Quite so.”
Stratton narrowed his eyes, carefully scrutinizing Bertram. “Are you right or left handed?” he asked.
Surprised, Bertram answered, “Right-handed. Why?”
“Just planning my strategy.”
The younger viscount blinked.
Rand casually pulled two cheroots from his pocket and handed one to Stratton. “Care for a smoke, lads?” he asked equably.
“No thank you, sir,” Bertram said. “Neither one of us smoke.”
“Excellent. It’s a nasty habit. Most ladies hate it. Don’t know why I do it, except I can’t abide snuff. Makes me sneeze something fierce.” He struck flint on tinder and lit Stratton’s before lighting his own. “Think it might rain?”
Stratton blew a puff of smoke before answering. “I’d say it’s likely. But then it’s always likely.”
Rand nodded. “Too true. By the way, Cecelia looked quite lovely last night. Beautiful gown she had on. Can’t believe she’s the same little tyke who used to toddle around after us when we were home between school terms.”
Stratton scowled at his friend. “I would appreciate it if you wouldn’t ogle my sister.”
Rand frowned back at him. “I wasn’t ogling but I’m not blind. It’s very difficult for a man not to notice a beautiful young lady.” He looked at Bertram and said, “My lord, are you acquainted with Lady Cecelia?”
Bertram swallowed. “Yes, of course. I met her last night. We danced a quadrille.”
“She’s rather attractive, don’t you think?”
“Uh, yes. Quite attractive.”
Rand grinned. “We’re you ogling her?”
Bertram’s eyes popped open wide as saucers. “Of course not!” he said indignantly. “A gentleman doesn’t ogle.”
“So you see, my friend, it is possible for a gentleman to notice that a young lady is attractive without ogling her.”
“But you’re not a gentleman,” Stratton pointed out. “You never have been.”
“Ah, you have me there,” Rand admitted.
Sir Humphrey, who had carefully been watching Rand, cleared his throat. “I was wondering, sir,” he asked hesitantly. “Are you the person known as Randy Dan?”
Stratton let out a bark of laughter. “Good God! It’s been years since I’ve heard anyone call you that! We gave you that name when you were fifteen.”
Rand grinned and offered a half bow to the young man. “In the flesh, Sir Humphrey. Though I venture to say that not everything you’ve heard about me is true. Some tales go beyond even my own abilities.”
“Even so, I’m honored to make your acquaintance.” Sir Humphrey’s voice was laced with schoolboy admiration. “Your ability to please the ladies is quite well known. I wasn’t certain if you truly existed. You’re an inspiration to the male species. Please, I must know. Did you really scale three stories to tumble Sir Hilton’s wife?”
The Bewitching Hour Page 33